Not one word fell out of her mouth.

Just went along between us, John an' I helpin' her over the curbs and gutters until she got to this kitchen, an' I sat her down in that chair, close by the stove, and began to dry her out, for her dress was all soaked in the mud and streamin' with water.

I got some hot coffee into her, an' found a pair of John's old shoes, an' put 'em on her feet till I had dried her own, an' when she got so she could speak--not drunk, mind ye, nor doped; just dazed like as if she had been hunted and had given up all hope.

She said like a sick child speakin': 'You've been very kind, and I'm very grateful.

I'll go now.' "'No, ye won't,' I says; 'ye'll stay where ye are.